


(No) Bigger On The Inside

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan Cocktober, Closet Sex, Doctor Who References, F/M, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: When there's only two Whovians in the bar on Halloween, it's inevitable that they'll meet. And flirt. And have sex in a closet. Unlike the TARDIS, it's actually not any bigger on the inside.





	(No) Bigger On The Inside

Emma hadn’t planned for her night to go this way. It wasn’t at all what she thought would happen when she agreed to go out for Halloween, and honestly, she might not have if she’d known it would happen.

What was that saying, though? _“We’re all stories in the end; just make it a good one.”_

Well, this one—and the man she was presently making out with in a lonely hallway at the Rabbit’s Hole—was shaping up to be a great one.

* * *

She’d noticed him right away from across the bar. It was hard not to, really, when they both stood out from a crowd that was filled with bro-dudes being bro-dudes and girls dressed as all manner of sexy somethings. Even Emma’s friends fit the mold—Mary Margaret and David were a sexy Snow White and her equally attractive (and scantily clad) Prince Charming, and Elsa was a sexy...well, Elsa.

So the fact that he wasn’t topless, or dressed as something idiotic or offensive (like Skeleboner, ugh—she had to fend off one of those just to get a drink) stood out like a beacon. She hadn’t even seen his face, but she could already tell he wasn’t one of those guys.

And that was partly because she’d recognize his costume anywhere. While there were a lot of costumes that mandated a suit, there weren’t a whole lot of brown pinstriped ones in pop culture.

Then her friends called her back, and their drinks were up, and she lost sight of the man in the throngs of people. Damn.

She tried to cast aside her disappointment as she dodged the douchebags through the crowd. That wasn’t why she was here—she was just having some fun with her friends while her son was out trick-or-treating with his. (And maybe attempting to reclaim some of her lost youth, after spending the bulk of hers raising Henry, who had looked way too grown in his Ghostbusters getup tonight.)

But, damn, did his shoulders fill out that jacket well, and it hugged his trim form perfectly. And what she could tell from the back of his head, his hair looked like it would feel great between her fingers. Granted, she was still imagining his front as David Tennant, so he might be letdown there—few guys stood a chance next to him.

Still, she was curious. And, glancing down at her own trench coat, they kind of went together.

Once she got back to her friends, Mary Margaret and Elsa decided that they really just wanted to dance, so the dance floor it was; she and Elsa danced together to avoid having to look at the sloppy makeouts from Mary Margaret and David. Her eyes scanned the crowd to see if she catch a glimpse of that suit, or even a man with dark hair and the glasses she noticed propped on his ears, but her search came up empty.

At some point, the True Love couple headed home to get some “privacy”, but Emma and Elsa weren’t quite ready yet. Call her obsessed, but Emma really wanted to find this guy. They both needed some water first, so Elsa headed back to their table while Emma went to the bar.

Though it was later in the evening, the place was still packed, so she squeezed into an empty spot and waited for the overworked barkeep to make his way over. She cast a few glances around to see if her mystery man was nearby, but still no luck. So she pulled her lone prop out of her pocket and fiddled with it while she waited.

Another person came up to the bar and took the empty space next to her, but she was too busy playing with the sound effects on her toy to really notice—at least, not until he spoke.

“Well, it looks like I’m not the only 10 in the room.”

She rolled her eyes at the dumb pickup line, even if his British accent was a bit enticing. “Please,” she started. “I’m a 13,” she threw back as she turned to face him—but then anything else she could have said got caught in her throat.

It was him. Ten. And oh god, he was even more attractive than she could have imagined. Someone extend her apologies to David Tennant—she might have a new favorite Doctor. (Well, aside from her other new favorite Doctor.)

Her assessment of the fit of his suit had been spot on: it hugged him in all the right spots, but still left a fair bit to the imagination. His tie and collar, however, had been loosened, teasing at the bit of chest hair that lay underneath. There was a mechanical hook in place of his left hand, but hey, even the Doctor lost his hand at one point.

And his face—holy hell, his face: the thick-rimmed glasses did nothing to hide the sparkle of his bright blue-gray eyes, even in the dim light. His sharp jaw was a little scruffy—very un-Doctor in that regard—but damn did he rock it. And his hair was indeed the perfect amount of mussed; she could easily see him at the TARDIS’s helm, running his hands through it frustratedly, and she was suddenly aching to do the same.

“I can see that,” he said with a smirk.

Wait, what? Could he hear her thoughts? Oh, no—that would be mortifying. “See what?” she blurted, almost panicking.

“That you’re a Thirteen,” he said matter-of-factly as he nodded at her own costume.

Oh, duh—right; she was the Thirteenth Doctor. It was kind of thrown together at the last minute, but she had on the new Doctor’s trademark shirt under a borrowed pair of suspenders, David’s too-large trousers, and her own tan trenchcoat. Henry had bought her the Sonic Screwdriver she’d been fiddling with as a birthday present.

“Yeah, right; sorry. It’s just—you look—” she stammered, tripping over her words.

“I know,” he smirked.

What even was going on? Thankfully, she had a decent excuse. “Well, maybe I’m nervous, or just socially awkward. I’m still figuring myself out,” she offered, quoting Thirteen.

His smirk became a full-on grin as he recognized the line. “In that case, I have something to divulge,” he said, leaning against the worn wood of the bar and leaning in closer. His breath was hot on her ear and she had to suppress a shiver. He said, in a low voice, “You make both of my hearts skip a beat.”

She couldn’t help it: she snorted. “Has that worked yet, or had you been you saving it for the right moment?”

Adorably, he scratched behind his ear. “Uh, yeah; I’d been sitting on that one for a while,” he admitted, glancing away. But then he looked up through his (ridiculously long) eyelashes. “Did it work?”

“Maybe,” she answered, giggling.

He smirked again, and she noticed the dimple it cut into his beard. She didn’t even know this guy’s name but she could tell this was headed to crush territory very fast—possibly more. “Can I try another one?” he proposed.

She shrugged. “Give it a go.”

“Are you a Weeping Angel?” His face softened and his eyes bored into hers, nearly overwhelming in their sincerity. “Because I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

It was so effing cheesy, but she just let out a sigh; she was being swept right off of her nerdy butt. “Yeah, it worked,” she finally breathed.

“Would it be too forthright of me to tell you that I meant it?” His intense gaze hadn’t let up, and she could tell he was telling the truth; she could spot a lie a mile away, and this Doctor was being completely honest.

“Only if I can confess that I’ve been watching for you all night.” She wasn’t usually that forward, either, but something about him was bringing out that side of her. Maybe it was because they were the only Whovians here, but a gut feeling told her it was deeper than that (and had nothing to do with them technically being dressed as the same person).

He gave a small smile back that crinkled the corner of his eyes. “I’ve got one more line, but it doesn’t seem quite appropriate for this conversation.”

“Oh? What is it?” She was curious.

“You’ll really laugh at this one,” he prefaced. “Do you have any Gallifreyan in you?” Then, leaning in closer again, “Want some?”

“Mm, nope, doesn’t work here,” she decided, even if the low timbre of his voice was doing things to certain parts of her body. “Can I try one, though?”

“Of course.”

She shifted herself into his space as much as she dared. Then, standing on tiptoe and lightly placing her hands on his firm chest, she murmured into his ear, “Is that a Sonic screwdriver in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He threw his head back, a genuine laugh bursting forth—but she got distracted by the cords of his neck on full display. And the little constellation of freckles on the side that she wanted to trace (though with her fingers or tongue, she couldn’t decide). And the fact that he smelled divine.

His eyes were back on her a moment later. “Yes,” he quipped.

“Which one?”

“Both.”

She studied his face for another moment, seeing the challenge written all over it, and then did what was possibly the boldest—or dumbest—thing she’d ever done: she fisted her hands in the lapels of his jacket and hauled his lips to hers.

He froze at first, making her immediately doubt her actions, but a second later, he pulled her tight to him and responded just as fervently. The music and chatter from the bar around them disappeared as she got lost in the kiss; he tasted like rum and she wanted to get drunk on him—which wouldn’t take long with her already being tipsy. The buzz from her previous drinks sped up to a full-on vibrate as his lips and tongue pressed against hers, sparking through her body and settling deep within, making her a different kind of warm.

And, judging by the way things felt when he rutted into her, he was feeling the same.

“Oy! Not out here! I don’t want to see that!” The jarring, angry voice of the bartender made them jump apart, though Emma was still holding onto him—she couldn’t make herself let go that easily. The curly-haired man was staring at them with arms crossed and a disapproving glare, mainly aimed at the other Doctor (she should probably figure out his name at some point here).

He just sighed, threw a withering look at the bartender, and then faced her again. After taking another deep breath, he looked at her almost imploringly and asked, “Do you wanna come with me?”

She was taken aback a bit, and tempted to ask what he meant by “come,” but he continued.

“'Cos if you do, then I should warn you—you're gonna see all sorts of things. Ghosts from the past. Aliens from the future. The day the Earth died in a ball of flame.”

Now she was grinning as she recognized the quote; god, he was such a perfect nerd.

“It won't be quiet,” he assured her, “it won't be safe, and it won't be calm. But I'll tell you what it _will_ be.” He leaned into her ear again and she did nothing to hide her shiver this time. “...The trip of a lifetime!”

How on earth—or space or time—could she say no to that?

“Well?” He had an eyebrow quirked in question and expectation.

“That was a Nine quote,” she tossed back.

“And?”

“You’re full of it.”

“Sort of, yeah.”

She just grinned and took his hand. “Lead the way.”

He beamed back, tossed a (frankly terrible) wink toward the bartender, and pulled her away from the bar towards the back hallway of the place. It looked like it led to the kitchens or an office—not the restrooms, thankfully—but she hardly got a decent look before he was pressing her against a door and picking up where they’d left off.

So, like she said: not where she planned tonight going at all. But who was she to complain? (“Who” indeed, if you pardon the pun.)

Interrupting her train of thought, his left arm wrapped around her while the right braced on the wood behind her. Her hands gripped his waist as he gently leaned his body against hers and found her lips again. There was no holding back this time, though—between the rum and the way he kissed, she wondered why he wasn’t dressed like a pirate. They wouldn’t be here right now if he had, though, would they?

Her hands drifted to the button on his coat and undid it, then worked their way to his tie to do to the same, untying the knot just enough to pull the thing apart and toss it aside. She pulled him closer, noting how much warmer he felt under her palms with fewer layers in the way.

“Does the lady get to have all the fun?” he grumbled playfully, pulling off his fogged-up glasses and sticking them in his coat pocket, then resting his forehead against hers as they took a moment to catch their breaths. If he hadn’t said anything, she might have asphyxiated—and unlike the actual Doctor, Emma had no regenerations.

“Nothing’s stopping you,” she panted back.

He replied with another kiss, but then his lips traveled down her chin to her neck, and his hand and hook slid into her jacket and up her sides, tracing the curve of her breasts as they went. When they found the collar, they started to slide the coat down her shoulders as he sucked a mark into her neck, making her arch away from the door and into him while also making it easier to get the coat off her body altogether.

She felt a small bit of relief at shedding the extra layer, but whatever coolness she felt quickly went away when she brushed against the bulge in his pants, drawing a stuttered groan from him. There was only one way for tonight to end, and she was starting to get anxious for it.

“What do you say, darling?” he breathed, then nodded at the door behind her. “Shall we see if this thing is bigger on the inside?”

She giggled and felt behind her for the knob, twisting it open when she found it. Thank god it wasn’t locked, but she did have to push herself into her Doctor again to step forward and open the door. He didn’t seem to protest the further closeness.

Quickly, he slipped through the doorway and she followed, closing it behind her. Of course, it was pitch dark in there and she felt immediately claustrophobic. So she pulled her Sonic Screwdriver out and turned it on; it cast a dim light over what was quite clearly a storage closet.

She was facing away from her Doctor and turned around to find him again—only to be met with the light from his own Sonic Screwdriver. “I guess it’s not,” he said, shrugging, but he didn’t sound upset at all; even in the dim light, she could see his smile.

“You’ve redecorated; I like it,” she glanced around and assessed in-character, drawing a snort from him. Then, wordlessly, he took both Screwdrivers and set them on a shelf, leaving them on to give some light—but otherwise, the tiny space was still pretty dark. At least they didn’t have to worry about any carnivorous shadows.

“Now where were we?” he wondered, but Emma knew they were both keenly aware of where they’d hit pause and promptly jumped right back in. Her fingers started to work on the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them one by one and trying not to rip any off while he kissed her senseless once more, hand buried in her hair.

She managed to get it undone somehow and tugged it out of his trousers, then threw it open. His chest and abs were just as she’d expected based on touch: firm yet soft, covered in the perfect amount of body hair that dusted his pecs and drew a line down his stomach. Damn, he was gorgeous all over.

He wasted no time following that up by reaching for her waist, she thought to bring her close again, but instead his digits went right for the clasps of her suspenders. She wasn’t sure how he unclipped it with his hook but she wasn’t going to ask questions—and didn’t have a chance to when her pants were suddenly falling down to her ankles. Guess that was an unseen perk to wearing too-large men’s pants. (That and they were super comfy.)

He really did grab her this time, hand sliding up her side and bunching her shirt with it, his palm leaving a path of heat on her already flushed skin. He stopped when he got to her bra and she almost whined. “Are you sure about this, love?” he asked, suddenly sounding unsure. But she adored that he cared enough to ask.

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Okay.” That was all he needed to hear to continue, thankfully, and she helped him make quick work of her top—actually noting where this garment landed, though, because that was totally her favorite shirt. (And probably her lucky shirt now.)

She stepped out of the pants as much as she could, not bothering to remove her ankle boots, and then gripped his shoulders and pressed him against the opposite wall. As much as she could, she straddled him, pressing her overheated core against his erection and drawing a gasp from both of them.

Then she reapplied her lips to his and borrowed a move from his book: she worked her way down his chin, enjoying the scratch of his scruff against her lips, until she found the soft skin of his neck. For a hot second, she just breathed him in; his scent was just as intoxicating as the rest of him. And in the dim light, she found that little line of freckles from earlier, and proceeded to suck and lick her way down it, one spot at a time. More than once, he shifted up into her as she worked, and she could feel the muscles of his sides as they moved under his warm skin. He tasted salty and sweet under her tongue and was just as delicious as she expected.

His grip on her tightened when at last, she nipped at the juncture of his neck and shoulder before coming up for air. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled. “You’re incredible.”

“So’re you,” she said quietly as she nuzzled the crook of his neck. His hand was gently brushing up and down her bare side, continuing to stoke her arousal, to the point that she found herself starting to grind against him, needing some sort of friction against the center of her arousal. His breath hitched with every press.

“I—are you—fuck,” he stuttered and cursed, but she knew what he was saying and moved to take off his pants. He didn’t protest, but did say, “I know I said earlier this wouldn’t be safe, but—“

“We’re good,” she told him, “assuming you’re clean.”

He nodded, then sighed as she unzipped his pants. She tucked her thumbs into both his pants and underwear and shoved them down, freeing his erection from its confines. She couldn’t help it—she reached out and carefully gripped his cock, stroking his generous velvety length until his breaths were staggered and her panties were soaked.

Enough was enough. She needed him inside her.

She released him and stepped back to tug her undies off, but he must not have been able to see what she was doing in the faint light. “I didn’t take you for a tease, darling,” he called out; she could hear his smirk in his voice.

She responded by shoving her panties in his hand. “I’m not.” And then she pressed herself against him once more. “There’s just one thing I need.”

“What’s that?”

She hitched her leg around his thigh, pressing her folds against his erection. “I need to know your name.” She could tell right away that this wasn’t going to be a one-time thing, like her lovers usually were; if they were gonna do this, they were gonna do it right.

“I’m the Doctor,” he answered cheekily, and she wanted to kiss that stupid adorable grin off his face.

“Really though.”

His smile softened. “I’m Killian.”

“I’m Emma.”

“Well, allons-y, Emma.” He grabbed her ass to pick her up and press her against the opposite wall, making her squeal in surprise, then grabbed his cock and stroked. “Forgive me, love, but I can’t see—“

“I’ve got it,” she cut in, then gently took his hand and lined his tip up with her entrance, circling it a few times in the evidence of her arousal. And he pressed in.

Oh god, he felt amazing, stretching and filling her so fully. “Brilliant,” she gasped.

“Darling, you’ve seen nothing yet.” He sounded just as wrecked as she was; how could things possibly get more intense?

And then he moved. Oh, that was how. Slowly, he pulled back and then pushed back in, dragging his cock against her inner walls so carefully that she felt every inch. “Lord,” she breathed, laying her head back on the wall.

“Aye—Time Lord,” he quipped as he did it again.

“Nerd,” she threw back; it was the only thing she had the mental coherence to come up with.

“Yeah,” he agreed, breathlessly. He didn’t say anything else then, focusing only on her, finding her lips again as he thrust in and out. She gripped his back tight for purchase, probably scratching him even though his shirt but he didn’t seem to mind. The leg she wrapped around him was digging into his firm ass for the same reason, and the other barely touched the ground, but she felt secure in his hold and matched him thrust for thrust as much as she could.

The familiar tingle of coming release started, low on her spine and spreading with every move. She ached to stroke her nipples, even if they were still encased in her lacy bra, but was afraid they’d fall if she tried it. So she pulled his chest to hers as tight as she could, gasping when they made contact and at the delicious extra friction his chest hair added to the whole thing.

Despite the change in angle, he didn’t slow his increasing pace and it was all she could do to keep up. Her lips found his constellation again as he rapidly shifted in and out, until she was teetering on the edge and it was all she could do to just breathe, pleasure threatening to take her away.

“I’m—I’m—” she stuttered, but couldn’t come up with any other words.

“Me too,” he breathed back. “Come for me, love; come—Emma—”

And with a shout, she did, throwing her head back as her orgasm peaked, all of time and space flying past behind her closed eyelids as it felt like stars exploding all over her body. (Appropriately, the strains of “Toxic” were coming through from the bar.) She was gripping his firm biceps for dear life, it felt like, but if he noticed, he didn’t say.

He followed quickly, his own loud moan accompanying his stuttered release; he had promised her it wouldn’t be quiet, after all.

Maybe this thing was actually a TARDIS, because she completely lost track of time as they stayed there, coming down from their shared high. It was probably only minutes, but could have been eons as she continued to breath him in, only moving so he could pull out of her.

Eventually, though, her legs began to shake from the strain of the awkward semi-stance she’d been in, so he gently helped her get steady on her feet, but stayed close.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered. “Bloody fantastic.”

“You too,” she replied, and placed a kiss on his defined collarbone. Whatever this was—or was turning out to be—she wanted more. And if the grin he gave her, and accompanying peck on the lips, said anything, it was that he did, too.

They cleaned up with some paper towel they found in there—not the softest thing in the universe but it would do—and redressed as best they could in the minimal light from their Screwdrivers. Once they were mostly decent again, Emma peeked her head out of the door; the coast was clear, so they slipped out and picked up their jackets from where they’d piled on the floor.

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to make love to myself,” Killian said, far too casually as he put his blazer back on.

“Oh my god, don’t be weird.”

“I’ve been called far worse.”

“What, like ‘nerd’?” she teased.

“Actually, I quite like that one,” he tossed back, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “Particularly when you say it.”

She turned in his arms to give him another kiss, then lamented. “I should probably get back to my friend; so much for getting her water.”

“Aye, I suppose I should do the same. And apologize to my brother.”

She tilted her head. “Apologize? Why?”

“Well, he’s the bartender, and this is his bar. It’s probably bad form for the younger brother to desecrate the storage closet.”

She chuckled. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Shall we?”

She tried to pull him towards the bar, but he didn’t move. “I don’t want to go.”

Oh, he didn’t. “No. You do not get to make me cry tonight!”

He smirked. “So, no burning up of suns, either?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Alright then. How about...to a new adventure?”

She smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

And arm-in-arm, they headed back out into whatever lay ahead.

* * *

(The first thing they saw was Elsa flirting with Killian’s brother. She’d gone up to find Emma when she hadn’t returned, and instead found Liam, and apparently they hit it off.)

(The next year, Killian repeated his Ten costume while Emma dressed as Rose Tyler. The year after that, they switched it up as Han and Leia—with Henry as Chewbacca—and Westley and Buttercup the next. Eventually, their daughter joined in on the cosplay fun, too.)

(One part of their tradition always stayed the same, though: finding their way into that closet at some point, because even if it wasn’t a TARDIS, it was still the start of their greatest adventure.)


End file.
